


Resounding

by sciencefictioness



Series: Resonant [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Horns, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Jesse/Hanzo, Oni Genji, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-05 20:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: There are things Genji is supposed to say in return— a list of them, in fact.  That the honor is his, or that he offers his hospitality.  That Shimada castle is always open to the people of the Stormlands.  That Genji is grateful for his sword, and the swords of his men, but none of the expected pleasantries come easy.Genji’s upper canines are already long for his kind, but they grow longer as he feels Lúcio's pulse beat rhythmically under his touch.  So long he can’t close his mouth anymore, eyes still lit up crimson.Words are difficult to summon, but when they come to him it’s in the old language, Infernal rolling effortlessly around his fangs.When they come they’re old, but intimate; words for brothers, and brothers in arms.Words for lovers.  Words for mates.“I am better for knowing you,” Genji says without hesitation, unable to stop himself.





	1. Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keio/gifts).



> Wanted to get the first bit of this up, the second part should be posted this weekend. Set in the same universe as Resonant, but it should still mostly make sense if you haven't read the first piece in the series. Lúcio here is based off his [heroes of the storm speed demon skin,](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/lVZLNY) and Genji is partially based off his [oni skin,](https://overwatch.fandom.com/wiki/Genji?file=Genji_oni.png) even if I consider parts of it to be armor/a mask. Thanks to karabasha for commissioning me, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

For the seat of the head of the Shimada clan, Hanzo’s chair is miserably uncomfortable.

 

Genji supposes it should be poetic— that sitting in Hanzo’s place is a burden he must bear— but really he’s just wondering why Hanzo doesn’t have another one made.  It isn’t some symbolic piece of furniture, or a ceremonial monstrosity that tradition demands Genji tolerate. It’s just a fucking chair. His back aches, and his legs are asleep.

 

Tomorrow Genji will burn it, if Hanzo hasn’t returned.

 

He’s been in seclusion for what feels like ages now, days stretching into weeks until Genji doesn’t even remember how long it’s been since the mating ceremony.  No one is surprised, or expecting Hanzo to return to his duties anytime soon. 

 

The frenzy is always like this, even if it’s not anything they’ve seen personally.

 

Sometimes Jesse and Hanzo wander the halls, or lounge in the baths, but they’re scarcely aware anyone else is there— tangled up in one another, scents so mingled that Genji can’t tell them apart.  Shimadas are already notorious for having zero inhibitions when it comes to their mates, but it’s worse than Genji expects, even after a lifetime in the clan. More than once he’s stumbled across them on the stairs together; on the balconies, next to the koi ponds, hands in one another’s clothes and oblivious to the whole world around them.

 

Genji can’t even leave the castle and get _ away. _

 

Newly mated demons often disappear into the frenzy for months, and until Hanzo comes back to take over officially Genji sits at the head of the table in his stead.  At first it’s simple— just the quiet familiarity of day to day affairs, like Genji has been dealing with all his life— but after a while visitors start to trickle in to pay their respects to the newly ascended leader of the Shimada clan.

 

To pay their respects to Hanzo, and in his absence, it is Genji’s duty to stand for him.  There are emissaries from allied clans, representatives from nearby covens, ambassadors from friendly vampire nests.  None of the wolves from surrounding packs show themselves, out of respect for Jesse and his status as Hanzo’s Alpha. They meet with Ana on Jesse’s pack lands, a few miles down the river from the castle, and Genji is grateful.

 

It’s miserable enough meeting with an endless procession of demon nobility, half of whom seem to think Hanzo being mated means Genji is next in line and looking for suitors.  They come dressed in silks with rings stacked on their horns, silver and jewels glinting on their throats and wrists and fingers. They go through all the niceties expected of them regarding Hanzo’s ascension—  bowing, and scraping, and gifts. Promises of fealty.

 

Then there is talk of new alliances and strength in unity as their eyes stray from his and flash black with interest.  Genji has no interest in forging deeper alliances.

 

Genji just wants them all to  _ go away. _

 

The sun dips lower in the sky.  Genji’s neck throbs sharply, every minute spent sitting at the table written into his muscles.  When the last of his visitors for the day finally take their leave Genji is glad to see them go.  

 

He sets his elbows on the table and puts his face into his hands, rubbing at the base of the horns at his temples with his fingertips.  Genji has smaller ones curling up out of his jaw, and he massages at those with his thumbs. It relieves some of the ache in his head, but not as much as a solid meal and a good night’s sleep will.  

 

Genji can take a bath, and jerk off, and forget about the rest of the clans until morning.

 

The sound of light but confident footsteps grows louder as someone approaches the banquet hall.  His cousin, were he to guess; Genji groans, and closes his eyes.

 

“Kou I want you to set this fucking chair on fire.  I’m serious, I can’t sit in it another day. I don’t know how he does it.”

 

There is a soft laugh, and pause; someone speaks, but it’s definitely not his cousin.  One of his servants, all polite deference laced with weariness. Genji can’t blame them.

 

All these visitors are exhausting for them, too.

 

“Young Master Genji, there is one more visitor here to pay tribute, today.  Lúcio, from the Stormlands.”

 

Genji drops his hands from his face and furrows his brows.  

 

The Stormlands are in the middle of a territory dispute with a vicious nest of vampires.  The clan has already provided men to help protect their outermost villages, but Genji hadn’t been expecting them to send anyone for something that is nothing more than a formality.  Not for a while yet, at least.

 

“I thought the Stormlands were still dealing with the Iko nest.”

 

A demon steps further into the room, clad from head to toe in bright red armor with sharp gold flourishes standing out here and there.  The accents shine on his knees, and elbows, and chest, horns painted the same shade of gold where they curl out from beneath his helmet.  A tuft of white feathers erupts from the top, and he wears a mask over the lower half of his face, crimson eyes glowing above it. 

 

“We are,” he says, reaching up to unclasp his mask and grasping the bottom of his helmet with one hand, “or we were, at least.”  He pulls it up, and off, dreadlocks falling loose around his face as he shakes them free. Dark skinned, dark eyed. He stands casually with his helmet under one arm, like Genji is just another demon and not the sitting head of the most powerful clan in the region.  

 

There’s sweat shining on his skin, and a cut on one cheek.  His lip is split, gore smeared across his chin.

 

This isn’t some general in pristine battle gear come to pledge Hanzo his sword, and the swords of his people; there is blood splashed over his armor, and little blackened spots where he’s fought his way through fire.  What he’s wearing isn’t all metal, and the leather stretched over his left bicep is torn to reveal part of an enclave tattoo; the mark of a Stormlands healer, if memory serves Genji correctly.

 

This is a soldier, fresh out of a fight, and all Genji can do is stare.  Genji can’t remember ever being caught like this, lips parted and eyes flaring crimson, unable to look away.

 

This demon is  _ beautiful,  _ even filthy and covered in blood.  Genji’s gaze lingers on the curve of his cheekbones, on the swell of his mouth.  He’s staring right back at Genji, just as intensely but less overwhelmed by miles.  He smirks, tilting his head and lifting one eyebrow.

 

“You are  _ not  _ Hanzo,” he says, obviously amused.  Genji shakes his head.

 

“Genji.”  It’s breathless.  Genji swallows, and blinks a few times, sitting up straighter in his seat.  “It’s Genji.” He repeats, louder this time, before stumbling to his feet.

 

He isn’t supposed to stand to receive supplicants, as a matter of hierarchy.  Genji sits, and they stand, and make the effort to come to him. Present themselves and proclaim their fealty, except Genji’s body just acts on its own, instinctively yielding; the demon’s grin slides wider, and he extends his free hand.  

 

Genji reaches out, fingers curling around his forearm, clawed thumb resting on the inner crease of his elbow.  His armor is torn here, skin soft under the pad of Genji’s thumb.

 

“Lúcio, of the Stormlands.  It’s an honor to be granted an audience.”

 

There are things Genji is supposed to say in return— a list of them, in fact.  That the honor is his, or that he offers his hospitality. That Shimada castle is always open to the people of the Stormlands.  That Genji is grateful for his sword, and the swords of his men, but none of the expected pleasantries come easy.

 

Genji’s upper canines are already long for his kind, but they grow longer as he feels Lúcio's pulse beat rhythmically under his touch.  So long he can’t close his mouth anymore, eyes still lit up crimson.

 

Words are difficult to summon, but when they come to him it’s in the old language, Infernal rolling effortlessly around his fangs.  

 

When they come they’re old, but intimate; words for brothers, and brothers in arms.

 

Words for lovers.  Words for mates.

 

_ “I am better for knowing you,”  _ Genji says without hesitation, unable to stop himself.  

 

Lúcio's eyes are deep scarlet, but they flare with light now, mirroring the glow in Genji’s as he cocks his head to the side and runs his tongue over his teeth.  There’s a necklace hanging around Lúcio's throat— corded leather with a vivid jade stone in some shape Genji can’t make out. It seems to glow, too, but then Lúcio touches it, and it fades away so quickly Genji thinks he’s imagined it.  A trick of the light, or a symptom of his exhaustion.

 

Lúcio's Infernal is rustier than Genji’s, stilted with disuse.

 

Rough but unmistakable, and he squeezes Genji’s arm tighter, and lets his irises flash bright.

 

_ “A beginning, and not an end.”   _

 

Genji stands there, dumbstruck and staring, until Lúcio clears his throat.  He bites his bottom lip and looks Genji up and down with a grin, and Genji shakes himself out of his daze and takes a step back.  

 

He drops into his seat, one of the servants pulling out a chair for Lúcio who takes it with a murmured thanks.  He touches the stone at his throat again— distracted, like he isn’t aware he’s doing it— before settling in the chair at Genji’s left.  Genji has already botched their introduction, but he’s actually decent at running the clan when there is no one looming over his shoulder, and it’s a simple thing to fall back on that when his mouth is failing him.

 

“So tell me about the nest in the Stormlands,” Genji says, leaning towards Lúcio without meaning to; elbow on the table, chin in his hand.  Lúcio smiles, and runs a hand over his face.

 

“Where do I  _ begin,”  _ he asks with a sigh, and then starts telling Genji about dead villagers, and vampire thralls, and the first real fighting his men have seen in ages.

 

Lúcio's voice is lulling, and he gestures a lot with his hands as he talks, and Genji finds himself caught up in the tale like he doesn’t know how it ends.

 

The sun sets, and the servants bring them wine; Genji asks questions, and smiles until his face hurts.  

 

Lúcio tells him stories until the sky shifts from black to indigo outside the east windows, sun threatening to rise again.  They stumble together down the hallway, laughing as they trip over their own feet. They lean into one another, Genji’s arm thrown around Lúcio's shoulders, Lúcio's curling around Genji’s waist.  Fingers closing over his hip, skin on skin— they’d lost their ceremonial clothes hours ago, and Genji is in nothing but the bottom half of a loose silk gi. Lúcio's undergarments are less flashy, designed to keep his leathers from chafing his skin, but Genji keeps getting caught staring anyway.  

 

Their horns nudge and scrape as they keep one another upright, and Genji can’t suppress the shivers that run through him, or the breathy noises he makes.  It’s a scandalous thing to allow their horns to touch this way; they mumble apologies, and snicker, and Genji hides his face in Lúcio's hair. 

 

Genji shows him to the guest rooms, a handful of servants and guards trailing after them at a distance.  They bid each other goodnight, Lúcio leaning against the open door of his borrowed chambers now, both of them staring as their eyes throw eerie shadows in the hall.

 

Lúcio seems to come to some sort of decision and reaches out, running the tip of his index finger down the length of one of Genji’s upper canines where it extends over his chin.  Genji exhales rough, feeling his fangs grow longer under Lúcio's touch, the horns at his temples and jaw doing the same. Grinding, shifting. 

 

There’s no disguising the reaction.  Even if he could get himself under control, it’s happened a dozen times over the course of the evening already.  Lúcio puts his hands on Genji, and Genji’s body comes alive like it never has before.

 

Genji doesn’t throw himself at Lúcio the way Hanzo had when he met Jesse, but it’s a near thing, and Genji can’t help but wonder.  

 

Lúcio makes his stomach twist.  Makes his cheeks heat when he lets his eyes linger on Genji.  Makes his heart beat fast in his chest. It’s hard to resist the draw— Genji wants to put his mouth on Lúcio, wants to press himself against him until there’s no space between them— but he  _ can  _ resist.  

 

If Lúcio were his, the way Jesse is Hanzo’s, then Genji would be helpless against it.  

 

It stings a bit, wanting someone he’s only just met so fiercely but knowing there’s nothing more than idle desire behind it; just the same kind of thoughtless attraction that has driven him into bed with countless others, time and time again.  

 

Lúcio closes the fingers of his free hand around the stone at his throat, and Genji’s chest aches.

 

“Sleep well,” Lúcio says, and steps backwards into his room, closing the door softly.

 

Genji stands there for a moment, palm over the base of his throat, his other hand touching the wall beside the door. 

 

Then he sighs and slips into his own chambers, passing by a mirror on his way to collapse into bed.  His gaze catches on his reflection, and he stops to look at himself, entranced by the sight. There’s still color high on his cheeks, and his eyes glow softly in the dimness of his room.  His hair is matted to his face with sweat, all of him warm and flushed with wine. 

 

On his upper left horn there is a streak of paint, a slash of shimmering gold where Lúcio's horns rubbed against his own.  It’s positively  _ obscene—  _ clear evidence of where they’ve been too close, too intimate.  

 

Like lovers, again, and Genji reaches up with trembling fingers, and touches it with something like reverence.  It smears further, gold spreading decadently on black. The rough surface of his horn is hypersensitive, and Genji arches, and falls against the mirror with a whine.  He’s got a hand in his clothes before he can stop himself, palm closed around the shimmering paint on his horn, fingertips sliding up and down.

 

He comes embarrassingly quickly, wiping the mess off the mirror as best he can with his hand and then cleaning it off on his pants with absent gestures.

 

Genji is drunk, and exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easy.  He feels out of place in his own bed.

 

Like it’s empty without Lúcio in it, and he throws an arm over his face, and sighs.


	2. Obsidian

Lúcio is fresh out of the bath at lunch the next day when they finally stagger into the banquet hall to eat.  The first thing Genji notices is his pendant, conspicuous and heavy at his throat. Bizarrely formal, when the rest of Lúcio is anything but; his horns are black now, all the ceremonial paint scrubbed off them.  It’s a little tragic— gold suits him— but the smooth black of his horns feels more personal. Genji can’t stop thinking about them sliding against his own, and the soft sound of Lúcio's laughter.

 

The press of his finger as he dragged it down Genji’s fang.

 

He’s foregone his armor in favor of clothes given to him by Genji’s servants; a silk kimono in the green Genji favors, Shimada dragons etched into the fabric.  He’s not wearing it properly, deliberately so; there are bandages wrapped around his ribs, and over one shoulder. Genji frowns when he sits next to him, wincing as his head throbs.

 

“You didn’t tell me you were injured,” Genji says.  It sounds sullen. Lúcio smiles.

 

“It’s not that serious.  Your boys got me patched up alright.”  

 

Genji reaches towards him, but then catches himself, and pulls his hand back.

 

“You’re welcome to stay until your wounds have finished healing before heading home.  You shouldn’t travel if you’re hurt. I’d be glad to have you here.”

 

_ We’d  _ be glad to have you, is what he means to say.  What he should have said, an invitation extended to Lúcio on behalf of the Shimada clan, but it doesn’t feel like politics.

 

Genji just wants him close.  

 

Lúcio smiles again, drowsy but content.

 

“Thought you might say that.  My enclave won’t miss me, now that the fighting’s done, and I appreciate the hospitality.  Maybe I’ll hang around long enough to meet your brother. Pay my respects in person.” Lúcio cuts his eyes to the side, waiting to see what Genji will say.

 

From someone else the unspoken implication that he didn’t respect Genji’s word as Hanzo’s own would be offensive.

 

From Lúcio it just sounds like an offering, and Genji’s eyes flare, and hold bright.  He stares at Lúcio a few moments too long, the intensity something he can feel even from his side of things.

 

“Please,” Genji replies, fisting his hand where it’s stretched between them on the table.  “I’d like that.”

 

Lúcio nods, lips still curved up at one corner.

 

“Me, too,” he says, and tucks into his food, groaning at the taste.  “This is DEFINITELY better than what they had us eating out on raids.”

 

Genji’s got his chin resting on his hand again, staring brazenly.

 

“Perks of the palace,” Genji answers, paying his food no attention.  Lúcio glances up, eyes raking over him, brief but heated.

 

“One of many,” he says, and Genji covers his mouth with his fingers and looks away.

 

-

 

Lúcio settles into life on Genji’s left with an ease that makes Genji warm and smug and happy.  Messages are sent to Lúcio's enclave in the Stormlands letting them know he’s fine, and that he’ll remain at Shimada castle until Hanzo comes out of seclusion.  The enclaves in the Stormlands are a loose association of independent territories; there is no single leader he needs to seek permission from, and Lúcio has no urgent reason to return home.  He writes his missives, and cleans his armor, and tends to his weapons.

 

Then he eases in next to Genji, and stays there.  

 

Days turn into weeks.  They take their meals together, and they both sit at the head of the table as Genji greets the last of the envoys and emissaries and ambassadors.  They spar together— Lúcio's  _ fast,  _ and strong, and no one but Hanzo has ever given Genji so much trouble in a fight.  It seems like it would be possible to take him down, if only Genji could catch him, but he is always just out of reach.

 

On the tatami mats.

 

In Genji’s arms.

 

Genji’s hands close on air, and he goes to sleep alone, defeated all the way down to his bones.

 

Then he steps into the dojo with Lúcio again the next day and keeps on reaching, unable to slip too far out of his orbit.  They learn each others tells, their weaknesses and strengths, but they don’t train hand to hand.

 

Genji doesn’t think he can take it without breaking.  Lúcio's skin on his, dripping sweat, slippery under his palms.

 

It’s bad enough when they drink together, Genji using the liquor as an excuse to sit beside to Lúcio.  To lean against him, and get in his space, voices dropping low as they tilt their heads close. Lúcio tells Genji about the Stormlands, and the men he fights with, and the enclaves that surround his home.  Genji tells Lúcio about his dragon spirits— different from Lúcio’s own spirit, more tangible. About his brother, and the wolves that roam their territory now. Howling at the moon, chasing off stray undead.

 

He tells Lúcio about Jesse, who they see occasionally, if mostly at a distance.  He is with Hanzo in the gardens, with Hanzo in the courtyard, with Hanzo in the baths.  Hanzo and Jesse are introduced to Lúcio, briefly, but Genji isn’t sure how much of it sticks for either of them.

 

The frenzy is said to be like a drug.  It’s been a few generations since anyone of importance in the Shimada clan has gone through it, and the history is hazy, but after watching Jesse and Hanzo he is inclined to believe the stories.

 

They bathe together, too, Lúcio in the royal baths alongside Genji, soaking in the steaming waters of the underground pools.  They are always talking, but Genji is less eloquent there; he’s too busy trying not to stare.

 

Trying to keep his fangs from extended, to keep his horns from curling thick and prominent from his temples and jaw.  Trying to keep his eyes from flaring.

 

Trying, and failing.  Lúcio never mentions it, all the ways Genji loses control around him.  

 

Sometimes he falls asleep with his head on Genji’s shoulder, or in Genji’s lap, horns rubbing against Genji’s stomach.  

 

Genji touches them once, fingertips brushing gently down the length of one.  Lúcio's eyes open, and surge with light, chest rising and falling faster as he looks at Genji with something like hunger.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but then a guard comes into the room with a message for Genji, and the tension shatters like glass.  There are dozens of moments like this—  _ almost, almost,  _ when Genji feels like they are a breath away from… something.  Something more.

 

Something better, just out of reach.

 

Lúcio never takes off his necklace.  It’s not some esoteric shape as Genji first assumed, but a frog, stylized and simplistic.  Lúcio touches it a lot, especially when Genji is nearby. Genji can feel magic humming in it; it sets his teeth on edge sometimes, the way it vibrates without moving.  It isn’t unusual for someone to wear jewelry warded with magic.

 

It’s unusual for the power to make Genji’s ears ring, though.  To make his chest hurt sometimes, his eyes aching. It isn’t meant to hurt anyone, or not any  _ Shimada, _ at least.  The wards around the castle wouldn’t have let Lúcio pass wearing anything that was made to cause them harm.  

 

Lúcio is very careful not to let him touch it, though, going so far as to pull it out of his reach once when he tries to run his fingers across it.  They’re both exhausted, Genji hazy with wine.

 

_ I’m sorry,  _ Genji says, and Lúcio smiles.

 

_ Not yet,  _ he replies, and Genji frowns, and wonders what that means.

 

Then Genji comes into the dining hall for breakfast one morning, Lúcio grinning by his side, and Hanzo is at the head of the table with Jesse at his right.  They’re holding hands but their eyes are clear, gazes alert for the first time in almost two months. The frenzy has passed, and Genji’s heart sinks, and breaks.

 

It was easy to forget that Lúcio didn’t actually belong— that he didn’t live across the hall from Genji, and call Shimada castle his home.  Lúcio came and fell into place like he’d always been there, and now Genji feels the threat of his absence like a wound.

 

Hanzo in his rightful place is like ice water thrown over Genji.  He stumbles over his feet before righting himself, Lúcio's hand on his shoulder steadying him.  If Lúcio is bothered by the prospect of leaving he doesn’t show it; just approaches Hanzo and gives a shallow bow, head tilted to the side.  The bow for Hanzo, the submission for Jesse.

 

Respectful as always, even when Genji wishes he wasn’t.

 

“Lord Shimada,” Lúcio says, then inclines his head towards Jesse.  “Alpha.” Hanzo gestures for him to rise.

 

“I think we can dispense with the formalities at this point, Hanzo is fine.  I take it you’ve found things to your liking during your stay? You’ll have to forgive my inattentiveness, I have been... otherwise occupied.”  

 

Hanzo and Jesse share a look that makes envy coil and spark like lightning in Genji’s guts.  A couple of months ago, Genji would have insisted he didn’t want a mate at all, least of all his  _ true  _ mate.  Spending his whole life with just one person sounded stifling and miserable, like the worst kind of nightmare.

 

Then he met Lúcio.  

 

Now Lúcio has met Hanzo, and he’ll return to the Stormlands, leave Genji empty.  

 

Lúcio straightens up out of his bow, and waves away Hanzo’s apology as he takes his seat.  Across from Genji, this time, instead of next to him.

 

Already he feels so far away.

 

“No forgiveness necessary!  I know how it goes. True mates aren’t as rare in the Stormlands as they are here.  The frenzy is a gift, yeah? The blessings of the Internals and all that.”

 

Lúcio glances at him, a look on his face that Genji can’t decipher.   Teasing, almost. Amused.

 

Genji lets his eyes fall away, hand fisting on the table in front of him.  His claws dig painfully into his palm.

 

Genji clenches it tighter.

 

There are traditions to be observed now, too.  Nothing dramatic— the feast to celebrate the end Hanzo’s frenzy will be later in the day, so that all the demons of the court have time to prepare—  but there are spells to be woven and prayers to be said. The priests call out the words, and light incense, and paint sigils on Hanzo’s throat and wrists in vivid blue.

 

Genji watches Hanzo, to keep from watching Lúcio.

 

After breakfast Genji and Lúcio usually spar together, but the thought of fighting him one last time makes Genji feel sick, so he hides away in his rooms instead.  Sprawls on the couches, and stares at the walls. 

 

Lays a hand over his chest, and rubs at it.  

 

Genji’s heart hurts like a bruise.

 

He doesn’t go to lunch, and no one comes looking for him until just before dinner, when a pair of servants tell him the last of the incantations are being spoken soon.  There is no need for him to be there, but the elders will complain if he doesn’t go, and it isn’t worth the trouble of listening to them grouse for the next few days.

 

When he gets to the dining hall the table is laden with food, the room full of his clan.  Cousins, aunts and uncles, allied families all gathered for the feast. Everyone turns their gazes upwards, towards the skylight that has been drawn open to let in the soft illumination of the moon and stars.  The priests pray their prayers, and light their candles, and Hanzo cuts into his palm, splashing a few drops of blood onto the altar in the center of one wall. 

 

_ All hail Lord Shimada, leader of the hordes, until the Infernals call him home. _

 

After this things will calm again, back into the more familiar rhythm of managing clan affairs.

 

Just like before Lúcio came.  

 

Genji watches him from over the rim of a wine glass, lurking on the edges of the room.  He’s painted his horns again, gold glinting in the candlelight. All Genji can think of is what it looks like streaked over his palm.

 

Lúcio spends most of the evening being chatted up by different demons— some of them Shimadas, others not.  They ask about the fighting in the Stormlands, about the enclaves there, about the encroaching vampires. Most of these nobles have never seen a real battle; they’re asking for war stories, and Lúcio is doing his best to oblige them.

 

He glances at Genji from afar, as though he’s trying to catch his eye, but there is always someone else waiting for Lúcio’s attention.  People try to engage Genji in conversation, and he gives them flat looks, and turns away. Anyone worth talking to will still be there in the morning; Genji’s guards, his cousin Kou, Hanzo and Jesse.

 

Everyone but Lúcio.  He’ll probably leave as soon as the sun has risen.

 

It’s a long way back to the Stormlands, after all.

 

Genji watches him throw his head back and laugh at something one of the werewolves said, covering his mouth with a palm.  Watches him smile, watches him talk with his hands. 

 

Thinks about Lúcio slipping through his fingers again, like he always has, and shakes the thought away.  He can’t let it happen, not so easily. Not when it feels like he’s breaking inside, a blade prying his ribs apart to press deeper.  If he does nothing he’ll regret it for the rest of his life, or at least until he traipses across the countryside to chase Lúcio into the Stormlands.

 

Genji has to  _ try. _

 

He stares at Lúcio until he has his attention, meeting his gaze from the other side of the room.  Genji bites his lip and lets his eyes flare, inclining his head towards the hall and waiting for Lúcio to respond.  Lúcio nods, and takes a step back from the werewolf he’s talking to, trying to extricate himself from the conversation.  It looks like it might take a while, and Genji doesn’t have it in him.

 

He crosses the room and slips between Lúcio and the wolf, smiling wide.

 

“Excuse me, I need to borrow my friend here for a moment.”

 

Lúcio smirks, cocking his head as Genji loops an arm around his and tugs him away without waiting for an answer.  Lúcio shouts a vague apology at the werewolf, waving his hand. Genji guides him out of the banquet hall, down through the maze of corridors.  He’s not thinking about where he’s going, just letting his body carry them forward on its own. Lúcio staggers after him, struggling to keep up for a few moments before huffing a laugh.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, where we going in such a hurry?  You that eager to ditch your brother’s feast?”

 

They’re just outside of Genji’s quarters now, and he presses Lúcio against the wall next to his door with a hand on his shoulder.  Genji splays his palm beside Lúcio’s head, and slides the other down his arm until their fingers are tangled together. Lúcio’s brows furrow; Genji can only see it by the light of his eyes, the nearest torch throwing the barest shadows around them.

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Genji says, breathless like the first time he spoke to Lúcio, dizzy with feeling.  “Or— or I want to go with you. I need you close, I need you with me, I just…” Genji swallows, and his voice breaks.  “I just need you. I can’t explain it. It hurts to think of you so far away.”

 

Lúcio smiles, and it’s indulgent.  It’s the kind of smile Genji only gets when they are alone, and there is no one else to see.  He reaches up to cup Genji’s cheek, fingers slipping around the horn on his jaw. Genji shudders, and leans into him.

 

“Don’t think I’m going anywhere for awhile.  I figured I’d find you after the feast. Didn’t expect you to be so impatient.”  

 

Genji doesn’t know what that means.  He isn’t impatient— he’s been waiting for  _ weeks,  _ and he  _ hurts.   _ He’s wanted to do this since the first day Lúcio arrived.

 

Genji thinks his patience has been  _ endless. _

 

The magic in Lúcio’s pendant is making his head throb again, more than usual, and Genji bares his teeth at the sudden onslaught.  All this, and a headache too, but then Lúcio picks it up with his free hand, jade sitting vibrant against his fingers, and— it’s  _ definitely  _ glowing now, green light humming in its depths.

 

“You don’t know what this is, do you?”  Lúcio asks. Genji shakes his head, and Lúcio rolls his eyes, and sighs.  “Stormlands’ demons find their true mates a lot more often than most clans, but it’s ehh… little inconvenient, if it happens in the middle of battle.  Lost a lot of distracted generals a few generations ago in some big fight, so now unmated soldiers carry these. Doesn’t stop you from recognizing your mate, but it does hold off the frenzy.  For awhile, anyway. I was starting to get worried the wards wouldn’t keep long enough for your brother to come out of his seclusion, but everything worked out, yeah?”

 

Genji’s breathing very fast.  Lúcio closes his fingers around the pendant, and the light bursts brighter, magic surging and then vanishing like smoke.  The jade is still beautiful, but there is no glow, no buzz in the back of Genji’s head making his teeth hum. The pain that’s been ever-present in Genji’s blood and heart and bones fades away, leaving only heat behind.  Lúcio is close, and he smells divine, and oh,  _ oh.   _

 

Lúcio’s  _ his.  _

 

Genji can’t breathe without him.  Can’t think without his hands on him.  

 

Can’t speak until their mouths are pressed together, and he whines, and leans down to kiss him.  

 

Lúcio opens for him, hands cradling Genji’s face, and he presses into him as though he can’t get close enough.  Everywhere they touch sparks through Genji like lightning, and he wraps his arms around Lúcio and  _ squeezes.   _ Tight enough to have him gasping and breaking their kiss, tugging Genji lower so he can run his tongue up one of his horns.  The paint is waxy, a little bitter; it doesn’t matter.

 

Genji shakes all over, shoving into Lúcio’s throat with a groan.  

 

“Lúcio.”

 

It sounds like he’s begging, but nothing else comes out, and Lúcio smiles.

 

“Genji,” he responds, blatantly endeared, rubbing his thumb up and down one of the horns on Genji’s jaw.  

 

Genji nudges his upper horns against the curve of Lúcio’s shoulder, scraping them back and forth as he hooks his hands under Lúcio’s thighs and hefts him into the air.  Lúcio’s legs wrap around his waist automatically, and Genji staggers into his quarters, kicking the door mostly shut behind him. There’s still a gap a few inches wide, but he can’t be bothered to fix it— not with Lúcio’s fingers sinking into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp.  

 

They’re both dressed in ceremonial robes, and it’s a simple thing to tear them off as he carries Lúcio across the room and falls onto the bed on top of him.  Lúcio kisses him again, and Genji gets so lost in it he doesn’t notice what Lúcio’s doing until he feels something brushing the back of his throat. 

 

He’s untied his necklace and knotted it around Genji’s neck instead; snugger than it had been, jade sitting higher between Genji’s collarbones.  It surprises Genji enough that he looks down, frowning.

 

He’s never worn it before, but it feels like it’s always been there.

 

Lúcio takes the opportunity to roll them both, pressing Genji back into the pillows and straddling his waist.  He trails a finger along the leather cord holding the pendant, then over the shape of the frog, smiling like Genji’s pleased him.

 

“Mine now,” he says, and Genji lets out a harsh breath, and nods fiercely.  His thighs slide further apart of their own volition; Genji has never been shy, and he’s certainly not going to start now, his mate looking at him with sharp teeth and bright eyes.

 

Then Lúcio eases down his body, pressing kisses along the way.  He drags his horns across Genji’s skin, leaving golden streaks on Genji— glittering, positively filthy.  On his chest, his abdomen, his hips.

 

On the inside of Genji’s thighs as he nudges them wider.  On the sensitive skin of his cock, and when Genji feels Lúcio’s horn against him he jolts, and reaches down to close the fingers of his hand around it.  The gold smears under his touch, revealing patches of black as he strokes up to the sharp tip, then down to the base. Lúcio shivers, staring up at Genji from underneath his lashes, eyes lidded and scarlet and throwing out light.

 

“Got you,” he says, and swallows Genji down.

 

Genji’s well past words, after that.  

 

Lúcio works him relentlessly, until Genji’s thighs are trembling, fingers quaking as he clings to Lúcio by both horns and ruts into his mouth.  He swears in Infernal, the profanities rolling off his tongue like liquid. It doesn’t even occur to Genji to stop— to ask if there are traditions they need to uphold for Lúcio’s enclave in the Stormlands, or observe those demanded by the Shimada clan.  The spells and magic and words can come later; Genji isn’t the heir, isn’t their leader.

 

He needs Lúcio, needs him  _ now,  _ and he isn’t going to wait.

 

He comes down Lúcio’s throat but doesn’t flag, cock still hard against his belly as Lúcio prowls back up his body.  Lúcio rubs his crown against Genji before pressing in, and the slide is easy, effortless. Genji was made for this; to take Lúcio, and give to Lúcio, until their scents are tangled together and they can’t be unraveled.

 

Genji isn’t sure how much time has passed when they come back to themselves.  It isn’t the end of the frenzy, not by a long shot, but they’re both gasping for air; covered in paint and sweat and bruises, wrapped in each other in Genji’s furs.  Sore in all the right places, if not quite as much as he should be.  His head is resting on Lúcio’s chest, and he listens to his heart pound, listens to him breathing. Genji is messy, thighs slick with come, belly smeared in streaks. 

 

The bond is a living thing in him, and in Lúcio, twisting back and forth and alive with power.  He can feel Lúcio’s spirit in him, ready to make him faster, to heal his wounds, to make him strong.  He wonders what his dragon feels like in Lúcio, how different it must be for him.

 

Lúcio is singing in Infernal, softly, gently.  It flows in lyrics much more smoothly than his speech.  He pets through Genji’s hair, and rubs over his horns, making Genji arch like a cat.

 

Then he seems to realize Genji is somewhat coherent, because his singing stops, and he lifts Genji’s face towards his own.

 

“I thought you knew what we were to each other.  That you knew I was waiting for your brother to take over, and that we’d be together then.”  Genji furrows his brows, and shakes his head. 

 

He could feel it, but he didn’t  _ know.   _ Lúcio kisses the base of his upper horns one at a time, and then tucks Genji’s face back into his chest.

 

“I’m sorry you thought I was leaving.  Got you now though, yeah?”

 

Genji nods fast, and holds Lúcio tighter.

 

“Yeah, you do.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scifictioness)!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things, or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


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